“Oh no you don’t,” Carver said, stepping forward. Grabbing Devil by the hair, he yanked the man’s head back and slapped his cheek. “Wake up!”
Devil forced his eyes open and stared into two faces of evil. The Carver twins sneered at him, their eyes bright with unholy glee. Devil blinked, and the twins slowly merged together until only one remained.
“We wouldn’t want you to miss this.” Carver patted Devil’s cheek and let go of his hair.
Devil managed to keep his head up, but barely. “Water,” he croaked.
Carver eyed the man a moment before nodding at Stubs. “Get him some water.”
Stubs jumped to fetch the water, hurrying across the room and returning with a bucket.
“How the hell did you get out?” Devil asked, eyeing Stubs over the ladle before taking a sip. The water was brackish, but cool, and went a long way toward settling Devil’s stomach.
Stubs’ smile was unfriendly and toothless. “Your men were so busy looking for Carver that they forgot about me. It took some time, but I managed to get loose.”
Devil had been holding Stubs in a small warehouse near the Thames. He didn’t want the man getting back to Carver and warning him. Apparently, he’d been smart to do so, if foolish in not making sure the man was still secure. Or dead.
“How much is he paying you?” Devil asked. His thoughts were starting to realign themselves. He remembered sending Moose to get Finn. If he could keep Carver and Stubs busy until they got here, then he and Jacqueline stood a real chance of getting out of this relatively unharmed.
Stubs tisked. “See, that’s where you underestimate me.”
Devil didn’t like the man’s sneer.
“What’s money compared to a taste of your lovely bride?”
Devil barely bit back a snarl. Now was not the time to let his rage take him. He needed to be smarter than that. “You really think Carver is going to let you have a piece of her?”
“He promised me—”
Devil forced himself to laugh, the sound out of place in the abandoned abattoir.
“Shut up!” Stubs hissed, dropping the bucket and grabbing Devil by the front of his shirt. “Stop laughing at me!”
Devil ignored Jacqueline’s concerned gaze and kept laughing. Carver was watching them, a knowing smile pulling at his lips.
Devil suddenly grew serious, leaning forward and locking eyes with Stubs. “And you believe Carver is a man of his word?”
“I trust him,” Stubs said, his chin coming up. His jowls jiggled, but he held Devil’s stare. “I saved his life. He owes me!”
Devil’s eyes flicked past Stubs, and something in them warned Stubs that he’d misjudged the situation entirely. Spinning around, Stubs came face to face with Carver.
“You should have listened to him,” Carver said and drove the blade into Stubs’ chest. “I would never allow you to touch what is mine.”
Stubs stumbled backward, his hands grasping the blade protruding grotesquely from his chest. “But, but…I saved you,” he whispered.
Carver shrugged his shoulders. “And for that, I thank you, but if you wanted her, then you should have let me die.”
Jacqueline jolted as Stubs stumbled past her, his body slamming into the wall and slowly sliding to the floor.
Stubs coughed and blood bubbled between his lips. “I thought…I thought…” Stubs eyes rolled up toward Jacqueline, their light quickly fading.
Jacqueline waited for him to finish, to say something more. Silence—thick and unexpected—filled the air. Stubs hissed as the last breath of life left his body. Jacqueline jerked in surprise, jangling the chain securing her hook to the ceiling.
Damn! Devil briefly closed his eyes, opening them when the air in front of his face was disturbed.
“I hope I didn’t just ruin your plans,” Carver said, smiling. “Stubs was many things, mainly useful, but he wasn’t very bright.”
“You always intended on killing him,” Devil said. He’d seen men kill before, had done the deed himself. But Carver killed with a kind of detached expediency that was unconscionable, or psychotic.
“Eventually,” Carver said.
“He considered you a friend.”
Carver was quiet a minute, his head tilted quizzically. Then he shrugged. “His mistake.” Carver spun on his heels, suddenly shifting his attention to Jacqueline. “Now, where were we?”
Jacqueline shook her head vigorously as Carver slowly moved towards her. “Devil?”
“Let her go, Carver!” Devil yanked on his arms. “You’ve got what you want. Kill me and be done with it.”
Carver stopped and looked back over his shoulder at Devil. “What makes you think you’re the one I want?”
Devil froze. “I’m the one who tried to kill you.”
“True,” Carver tipped his head in acknowledgment. “And such a slight should not go unpunished, but it’s your wife that I have unfinished business with.”
Carver started back across the room, his sights set on Jacqueline.
Devil struggled to get his legs underneath him. His head had started to clear, but parts of him still weren’t working right.
Carver sidled up to Jacqueline, wrapping one hand around her waist and drawing her close.
Hanging as she was, Jacqueline’s toes barely touched the floor. She was powerless to help herself, and the knowledge seized the air in her lungs.
“You and me,” Carver said, nuzzling the soft skin of her neck with his nose. His eyes closed, and his cock grew hard as her scent burned its way into his brain. “We’re going to get real familiar.”
Jacqueline turned her face away, and her skin crawled. The abattoir was thick with the smell of stale blood and rotten meat, but the odor of death surrounding Carver was stronger, fresh.
“I should have known,” Devil said, beating back his rising panic and forcing a note of derision into his voice. Where the hell were Finn and Moose? “You’re not a man,” he sneered. “What kind of man tortures women and kills idiots?”
Carver ignored the taunts. “I dream of you,” he whispered, letting his hands wander. For too long he had touched her only in dreams. Here, now, she was real. The only thing standing between him and the flesh he so desperately wanted to caress was her dress. “I dream of touching you and of hearing you beg.”
Jacqueline gritted her teeth. “I would die before I beg you to touch me.”
“Oh, but my dear, you misunderstand,” Carver said, letting go long enough to slide his blade from behind his back. “I want to hear you begging me to stop.”
Icy fingers of terror wrapped around Jacqueline’s throat. She wasn’t going to live through this, not this time. There was no one to save her. Her eyes flicked past Carver to where her husband hung watching them.
Devil’s face was twisted with rage, but it was his eyes that held her. In them she saw regret, and an apology, and something more that encouraged her to hold on.
That same thing gave Jacqueline the strength to hold still as Carver raised a knife to her face, turning it this way and that so that candlelight reflected off its blade.
Carver slid the tip of his knife into the cleavage of her dress and tugged, splitting the dress to her waist. The blade was sharp, and the delicate fabric parted easily. Quickly, Carver cut the dress from Jacqueline’s body in pieces, leaving her standing in a cotton chemise and her undergarments.
Carver’s breath shuddered. “So beautiful,” he whispered reverently. Switching his blade to his left hand, Carver cupped Jacqueline’s breast, feeling the full weight of it filling his palm.
Jacqueline shuddered and jerked back, pulling her breast free. “Don’t touch me.”
Carver smiled, and this time when he took her breast in hand, he wrapped his fingers around the plump orb and squeezed.
Jacqueline clamped her teeth together, grinding her molars rather than crying out as her breast was crushed. The pain spread through her chest as Carver slowly, methodically tightened his grip until her eyes
started to water and a tear slid down her cheek.
Carver darted forward, licking the tear from Jacqueline’s face. “As promised, all your tears will be for me.”
“Get your hands off my wife!” Devil roared, lunging forward. His body strained at the end of his tether and vibrated with rage. “Don’t you touch her, you sick bastard!”
“She’s not yours anymore,” Carver said, not taking his eyes off his prize. Her body trembled, and fear radiated from her in delicious waves. “She’s mine.”
“I will never let you have her,” Devil sneered. “I would kill her myself before I let you touch her again.”
“Big words for a man tied up like a dog.” Carver tipped his head back and laughed. This was so much more fun than he anticipated!
“It’s the only way you can win,” Devil said, landing on an idea. “You’re not man enough to fight me.”
Carver stopped laughing. Slowly, very slowly, he spun around on his heels and faced Devil. “You don’t think I could fight you?”
“I think you’re too scared to even try.” Devil let his lip curl. Carver’s attention was fully focused on him, right where he wanted it. “You prey on the weak because you can’t do anything else.”
“I chose my victims—”
“Whores, all of them. Not much of a challenge there.” Devil’s eyes narrowed, and his voice became inquisitive. “Unless, of course, that’s what you prefer? Dead whores? The only thing lower than a whore is a dead whore. Tell me, when do you fuck them? Before or after they’re dead?”
Jacqueline stifled a whimper. Biting her lip, she turned and pressed her face into her arm. God help her; she did not want Carver’s attention back on her. Whatever else, she had to trust that Devil had a plan beyond just sending Carver into a destructive rage.
Carver crossed the room in three quick strides, backhanding Devil and knocking his head back on his neck. “Shut your filthy mouth! Those women were mine. Mine! I marked them, just as I marked your wife.” Carver grabbed Devil by the hair, yanking his face forward. Spittle ran down his chin as the two men came nose to nose. “I buried my cock in their quim just as I buried my blade in their bellies, and they held me there, held me, and took my seed into them as they died. I gave them purpose.”
“You killed them because your mother was a whore who didn’t want you,” Devil said, keeping his voice even. He’d heard the story of Carver’s birth, how his mother had left him for dead. “You are nothing more than a lost little boy looking to punish his mommy. You could never fight a real man.”
Carver’s eyes narrowed, and he considered Devil. “And who would I fight? You?”
“NO!” Jacqueline shouted, struggling against her bonds. “Devil, you can’t! You’re in no condition to fight.” Blood from the blow to his head still trickled down his face, and even now his eyes had trouble tracking her.
“You should listen to your wife,” Carver said, but he was quickly warming to the idea. “I will kill you.”
“You can try,” Devil said, ignoring his wife. She was right. He was far from his best, but he had to try and stall for time.
“Excellent,” Carver said, his pleasure more suited for the bedroom than the slaughterhouse. Quickly, he slipped his blade between the rope securing Devil’s wrists, dancing out of reach as the man, suddenly free, dropped to the floor.
Devil grunted as pain shot up his leg. Slowly, he drew himself up, gingerly putting his weight on his right ankle. The ankle didn’t hold.
“Devil!” Jacqueline watched her husband stumble and catch himself.
Keeping an eye on Carver, Devil limped over to his wife. “It’s OK,” he whispered, taking her face in his hands.
“Devil, please! You don’t have to do this,” Jacqueline pleaded, searching his face. His hands were warm against her skin, and she pressed her cheek more fully into his palm.
Devil ignored her and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “I want you to know, I never meant for any of this to happen.”
“I know, please, just don’t do this!” Jacqueline saw it then, the care—the love—her husband had for her. Whatever else had happened, the love was real, and he would sacrifice himself trying to save her. “You can’t win, not like this.”
Carver paced slowly back and forth, waiting, the knife still in his hand.
“I don’t need to win,” Devil told her softly, pressing their foreheads together. “Moose is on his way with Finn. If something happens to me—”
“Nothing is going to happen to you!”
Devil closed his eyes. He was so tired, the urge to lay down nearly driving him to his knees. “If something happens to me, you fight and you keep fighting until they get here. That’s all you have to do.”
Devil opened his eyes and stared into the face of the one woman he’d ever loved. “You’re stronger than you think,” he told her. “You survived all of this once before. Don’t give up now.”
“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Jacqueline asked, suddenly angry. “Aren’t you giving up?”
Devil couldn’t help but smile. Only his Jac would get angry at him for trying to save her. “I’m not giving up, but I’m a realist.”
Jacqueline realized her mistake. “Devil, Devil, look at me.” Her husband had closed his eyes again, and his body was leaning heavily against her. “You can do this,” she told him. He had to go on believing he could win; otherwise the fight was already lost. “You’re stronger than he is. You always will be. You are ten times the man he could never be, and you can kill him.”
“Ah, Jac, your faith in me warms my heart,” Devil said, and heard it then, the slight slurring of his words. A concussion was most likely the cause, not a surprise considering he’d taken a pipe to the head. Gingerly, he felt the back of his head, wincing as his finger brushed over the tender skin. The bump was the size of an egg and pounded in time to his heartbeat.
“Remember what you told me,” Jacqueline said, yanking on her restraints. Pain shot down her arms as the rope cut deeper into her wrists. Ignoring the sting of pain, she turned and twisted her wrists, trying to slip them free. She wanted to hold her husband, needed to feel him in her arms.
“I told you so many things,” Devil said, his mind starting to wander. “But never the important ones, never the truth. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t care about that,” Jacqueline said, gritting her teeth. The pain in her wrists turned white hot, but she thought she felt the slightest give in the rope. “You told me there is no cheating when it comes to defending yourself.”
Devil remembered that moment. It was the morning after they’d made love, and he’d never wanted her to be scared again.
“You do whatever it takes,” Jacqueline urged, her voice hard. “You kill him!”
Devil blinked, his eyes slowly focusing on his wife’s face. It was hard and set with determination.
“You kill him, or you kill me,” Jacqueline hissed, hoping to give him something to fight for.
Devil nodded and slowly backed away from his wife. He’d been a boxer, he reminded himself. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced a fight injured. This wasn’t even his first concussion. As Jac said, he could do this. What other choice did he have?
Devil turned and faced Carver. The slippery bastard still held a knife. “Do I get one of those?”
“Sorry, friend,” Carver said, smiling. “I only have the one.”
Devil looked around. They’d taken his coat and, not surprisingly, the pistol from his back. Reaching down, he checked his boot. Also empty.
Carver’s smile widened. “I know you too well.” He’d seen Devil arm himself many times.
Devil reached into his left boot. The world tilted precariously, and a wind roared in his ears. Nothing else stirred. The sound was only in his head, a side effect of the concussion.
But the blade still in his boot was real.
Devil smiled and stood up slowly. “You’re wrong if you think you know everything there is to know about me.”
Carver’s smiled slipped slightly before he caught himself and shrugged. “No one can claim this wasn’t a fair fight.”
Devil didn’t have a chance to respond. Carver came in fast and low, aiming for Devil’s gut and driving him back with the wide sweep of his blade. Devil slammed into the wall, pain shooting into his shoulder as he spun away. He tried staying on the balls of his feet, but his balance was compromised, and his movements jerky.
Carver followed Devil’s retreat. The man was clumsy, tripping over his own feet. “Who does the hard things?” he asked, quoting an old proverb. “He that can.”
Devil ignored the spinning room and focused on his opponent. Carver advanced, leading with his right foot. Devil saw and knew a jab with the knife would come next.
Carver jabbed, advanced, and jabbed again.
Devil smiled. He’d always been good at reading his opponents.
Carver continued to advance, his body angled to make for a smaller target. Devil waited for the next lunge, slipping past Carver’s guard. He felt his blade catch on Carver’s shirt as it sliced through the man’s side.
Carver hissed, scrambling back and examining his side. His shirt was cut and stained red with his blood, but the cut was shallow and the pain already beginning to fade.
Jacqueline watched the fighters, her elation at Carver’s injury turning to fear as the men engaged once again. Carver seemed to come back even more determined, while Devil still struggled under the weight of his injuries.
Reluctantly, she took her eyes off her husband and glanced up at her wrists. They spun easily, the rope slick with her blood. But each time she tried to draw them out, the rope seemed to tighten.
The rope itself had been looped over the end of the meat hook but not tied directly to it. If she could lift herself off the hook…Jacqueline looked around, her toes barely touched the floor, and she had no height left to offer herself. If she could find something to stand on, she could slip herself off the end of the hook. The bucket Stubs had brought water in lay on its side across the floor, too far away to do her any good.
The Bride of Devil's Acre Page 22